Godric's Hollow
by ravencaitlin
Summary: James and Lily go into hiding, and struggle to cope with their new life.
1. Chapter 1

Day 1

We're driving away and the road falls back behind us. We're driving away, and the darkness is so solid that when we look back we feel dizzy, so we don't. We stare forwards, eyes on the road. My hand is on the gearstick, his hand on top of mine, and there is electricity passing between us, and we understand. We don't need to speak. We just need to drive. We're driving away and the world is rushing past us.

The road bends, and we bend with it. There is no one else for miles around, it is just us, and we feel so small. It is a relief.

We drive for hours without stopping, barely even slowing down to turn. And even though I am driving, even though it is my hand alone that is holding the steering wheel, we are in this together, and I can barely tell where I end and he begins. I know exactly what he's thinking, and I know he knows exactly what I am thinking. We are thinking that we can not stop. We are in this together, and even though it's all too fast, and we're too small, and the night is too black, we are not scared.

Finally, we do stop. As I pull the car in along the curb, he pulls me in towards him, and our noses touch. I can feel his breath on my face, and his pulse under my hands. We do not speak, because we know we are doing what we have to, that we hardly have a choice. We know that together we will force our way forward.

We open the car doors, almost in sync, and climb out, the fresh air biting our faces. I turn and look at him, and he is looking down the garden path, at the door. It does not feel like home. I walk around the car to stand beside him, and he puts one arm around my shoulders, and the other on my belly. I breathe in his scent, wrapping my arm around his waist, and we walk towards the house together.

Day 8

It's been a week in our new house, and I still can't bring myself to call it home. James is going stir crazy already, and there is no end in sight. I don't blame him. I'm frustrated too. More than anything, it's killing me that Vernon is finally right about us. We are living like the lazy layabouts he always says we are, and we have no choice in the matter. We are even living almost like muggles. I want to throw things at the wall, or send Vernon a howler, just to let off steam. But I don't. I don't because I know that James needs me. I sometimes think I am the only thing anchoring him to the earth. If I start breaking, we will break together, and there is no one to clean up the pieces. So I stay strong for James, and for our 'little friend'.

Sirius, Remus and Peter visit often. They are our lifelines to the outside. Remus bought us each a Walkman, a muggle music playing device. It is the only object James loves even close to as much as he loves his broomstick, his broomstick that he now keeps locked up under the stairs. Sirius brought me as many potion ingredients as he could get his hands on, and I now spend hours experimenting, mixing and matching. For James, he brought a 'dad-joke book,' so that he could 'practice' for the most important role of his life: as a parenting comedian. Peter always brings coffee and a different cake each time.

Marlene and Mary have come by once too. Marlene brought me a cactus, so I can practice for the most important role of my life: keeping a baby alive. It struck me as unfair that this baby's life and death was in my hands, while James was apparently only responsible for its sense of humour. It also struck me as somewhat rude that Marlene only trusted me with a cactus, a plant that is next to impossible to kill, and which is therefore _not_ very good practice for a real live breathing squalling human infant. But I thanked Marlene for the cactus, which I put on the window sill, and which is still looking perfectly healthy _thank you very much_.

I am on edge, and James is a bundle of nerves, and we couldn't possible get by without these people who force us to laugh, to get a grip, to stay connected to the world that would kill us.

Day 11

They can see we are brittle. So today, they turn up bearing booze. There's enough to get every resident of Godric's Hollow blind drunk, but we only need enough for five. Remus says he's already hungover, and doesn't want to drink more tonight, but I know he is only holding back out of solidarity with me. I am grateful. James needs to unwind, and I need James to unwind. But before he even pours his first glass of firewhisky, he pulls me into the bathroom and kisses me hard, as though he is trying to meld our skin together. He says _maybe we should tell them to leave, it seems wrong, getting drunk when there are people who want our family dead._ And I kiss him back, harder, and tell him _there is no wrong way to do this_. I squeeze his hand, and we walk back out to the living room, where Sirius and Marlene have already gotten a headstart, and Peter is holding out a drink to James, while Mary fiddles with our stereo.

It doesn't take long for the mist to lift. I hadn't even realised our house had been full of fog since we moved in, until our friends appeared to blow it away. We act like young people, like the idiots we still would be, if the war hadn't stripped our youth away. Marlene and Sirius play strip ping-pong on our dining room table, while Remus referees, and Sirius ends up wearing nothing but socks, swearing up and down that he was going easy on Marlene to _preserve her dignity_. Peter is standing on a chair balanced on our sofa, drawing constellations on the ceiling, very inaccurately. Mary is laughing at him, pointing out his errors, _what is that supposed to be? Since when is there a constellation in the shape of a giraffe?_ He pouts and says _it's clearly a dog, it's obviously Canis Major, see, there's Sirius_ and that's when James pipes up and shouts that _Sirius is in the dining room Wormtail, are you sure you haven't had too much already?_

And I am smiling. My heart is bursting, because weights have been lifted and I feel so light and my head is spinning, even though I haven't had a drop to drink. That's when I think I may just survive this thing. We may make it through with all these people beside us.

A few hours pass in easy chaos. There are bottles strewn across the floor, a chair has been knocked over, and Peter has already fallen asleep on the sofa. Sirius, Marlene, Mary and James are having a game of never have I ever, and Sirius and James are merciless. Each knows each others' most embarrassing stories, and is using them in shouts of _ha! Take a shot! I know you've done that, don't lie!_ Remus and I are deep in conversation about whether merpeople can drink at all, because they _breathe liquid_ so they therefore can't drink it, but then again they need something to wash down their dinners of grindylow spleens, or whatever they eat.

And then Remus is following Sirius to the bathroom, holding back his hair as he throws up violently, talking to him all the while to keep his mind off the rotating room.

Marlene and Mary link arms, each insisting they are holding up the other, stumbling together to the room that is empty, for now.

I am sitting on the floor, my back against the sofa, James' head in my lap, as he looks blearily up at me. I run my fingers through his hair, rubbing his temples, pulling his hand up to my lips. I stare into his eyes, feeling that if I look anywhere else I will miss something important, and I whisper _I love you_ and he whispers it back. His eyes fill with tears, and I nod, pulling my wand out to conjure us pillows and blankets. I am too tired to try relocate to our bedroom, and I know James is incapable of walking now. I lift his head from my lap, and slide down beside him. We curl into each other, our legs tangled, our foreheads touching, and we slip into sleep together.

Day 12

When I wake up the next morning, I am surrounded by the people I love the most. Most of them feel too sick to worry about the war that continues to rage around us. Remus and I make everyone breakfast and hot, strong coffees.

Around mid afternoon, Mary leaves to see her parents. Marlene and Peter leave soon after, they promised Dumbledore they would help with recruiting tonight. James drags himself back to our bed, where Sirius has been since he finished emptying out his stomach last night. Remus and I sit and talk quietly in the living room. Remus' eyes look dull, now that our getaway night has passed. I know he too is struggling to keep his head above water.

Remus tells me Dumbledore wants him to spy for the Order, to join others of _his kind_. Sirius loses his mind every time the subject comes up. But Remus feels he can do nothing but agree, Dumbledore has done so much for him, and he is the only man for the job after all. But it is driving a wedge between him and Sirius, who keeps insisting he has a death wish. He sighs, and looks down at his hands. I lean forward to hug him, wrapping my arms around him, my hand gripping the nape of his neck, and he seems to shrink in my arms. We stay like that for a while, and I think Remus is fighting to keep it together. He is always fighting, and I wonder if he knows any other way to live. When we break a part, he smiles at me shakily. I tell him to get his boyfriend out of my bed – they can stay in the spare room. I need to go back to James.

When I climb into bed, James is asleep, sprawled out on his stomach, even though it is five in the afternoon. I lie on my side next to him, resting my head on his arm, and tracing clouds on his back with my finger. After a while, he shivers, and opens his eyes to look at me, and he smiles. _I'm sorry about last night,_ he says. I kiss him, and say, _I'm not_.


	2. Chapter 2

Day 21

We are so bored. We are so bored that it feels like our blood is itching to get outside our skin. We are so bored that we've been playing board games, card games, guessing games, memory games, any kind of game that will waste just 10 minutesbecause that will be 10 minutes closer to when we can go to sleep and then 8 hours will have passed and it will be tomorrow and we do it all over again.

We are so bored that we've started picking fights. It's not just the teasing it used to be. Our fights have a new nastiness born of idleness, of the feeling our brains are melting inside our heads, of incredible frustration. Our fights come out of nowhere. James will say _I wish you could just have the baby already and then at least there would be something to do_. And I snap. And I know it's unfair, and that he was only really speaking to fill the silence, but I can't help it. _Easy for you to say._ And the words are cold and harsh.

I worry we are losing ourselves. I worry we are losing us.

I know Sirius has noticed. No doubt the others have too, but I heard Sirius and James talking because this house is so damn small you can't go anywhere when you need space and time alone because I was eavesdropping, waiting for James to say something surly about me that I could jump on and start another fight to while away some more time.

 _I don't know what to do anymore, I just can't help myself. I know I'm ticking her off, and I keep doing it on purpose,_ I hear James saying. I almost burst in, yelling _A-hah! I knew you were trying to annoy me!_ But something in his voice stops me. He sounds defeated, and I recognise it, because I am too.

That's when something finally shifts in my head. I realise that if we keep going this way we really will be defeated, and this will all be such a waste. _Voldemort might kill us, but we will not defeat each other._

I wait for Sirius to leave. I cook James' favourite for dinner, shepherd's pie. I don't pick a fight over how it is always me who cooks. And now that I've decided not to be annoyed anymore, I find I enjoy cooking. It fills the time, it takes concentration, and there is a finished product, something to show for my effort. While I cook, I plan for our victory over boredom.

James smells it from the living room, where he is sorting through his chocolate frog cards again. He comes and hovers in the doorframe, and I can tell he is being cautious, weighing his words. He wants to avoid a fight this time too. Before he can say anything, I say _I made this whole dinner the muggle way._ He opens his mouth, but doesn't reply. I think he is wondering whether I am expecting special thanks for my effort, or if something is wrong. I set the dish on the table, and walk over to him, and kiss him. It is the first time we've kissed in two days. _I bet you couldn't cook dinner the muggle way_ , I say, and I grin at him to make sure he knows I'm trying to make him smile too. It works.

 _I could too,_ he says emphatically, jutting out his chin. _I could do a whole roast dinner for ten people the muggle way_. I arch an eyebrow. He goes on, _I could cook a whole roast dinner for ten people, and clean the whole house, and crochet a blanket for the crib the muggle way, all in one day._

I am the first to break. The image of him crocheting at all, let alone a whole blanket, leaves me struggling to breath through my laughter. I am bent double, and shaking, and for once it is not anxiety that is almost bringing me to my knees. Finally I gasp, _you couldn't survive a day without your wand, even if you didn't have to do anything around the house_.

He stands back, mock offended. _Challenge accepted, Evans_.

Day 22

I am the first to wake this morning. I turn over, and see James lying on his stomach, which I can no longer do, but instead of making me jealous this makes me smile. I remember last night, our teasing and playfulness. He flicked mashed potato at me, and I turned my spoon into a slingshot to shoot peas at him. We ended up falling about giggling like children. We had fallen asleep wrapped around each other. I am proud of us. We pulled each other back from the edge.

And then I remember our bet, and my smile widens. I can not wait for James to wake up on his own, so I brush his hair away from his ear and kiss his cheek. I run my hand down his side and he shivers.

 _Evans,_ he mumbles _, that's not fair. How am I expected to sleep when you do this to me?_ And he rolls over and looks at me. He knots his fingers through my hair and pulls my face towards his. I let him kiss me, but I am bursting to remind him. Finally I can't take it anymore. I pull away. _Today is the day that James Potter goes muggle_. The sides of my mouth are turning upwards, but I force myself to keep a straight face. _Are you making breakfast then?_ he asks, without missing a beat. _Because obviously I won't be able to. I'll be staying right here, in bed, all day, and I won't be doing any magic at all. You'll have to bring me breakfast in bed, and brush my teeth for me and sponge me clean._ James isn't bothering to keep a straight face. He is grinning widely, obviously having a terrific time already.

 _That's cheating,_ I pout. James is quick to reply innocently _but you said I wouldn't have to do a single chore!_ I think fast. _Well fine,_ I say, _but I didn't say I'd do them for you, so if you won't be leaving this bed then I suppose you'll starve, and be a muggle all alone, doing nothing all day._ My severe face holds for another second, and then James' stomach rumbles, and I lose control and smile, knowing I have won. James follows me downstairs for breakfast, leaving his wand on the nightstand.

He pours himself a bowl of cereal, and by the time he's sat down to eat I'm already almost finished, because I charmed my breakfast to make itself. But I sit and keep him company til he finishes too. Eventually he stands, and carries his bowl and spoon to the sink to wash up. I point my wand at mine and say _tergeo_ , and then use a banishing charm to return it to the cupboard. James swears as he splashes water on his pyjama pants, and instinctively reaches for his wand to dry himself off. His hand freezes half way to his pocket, and he turns around to face me. _You're just loving this, aren't you?_ But I am laughing so hard I can not answer, I laugh so hard I fall off my chair, because the water on his pants looks like he wet himself, and all he can do is go upstairs and change his pants, the sluggish, muggle way.

A few hours later I catch him pointing his finger at the fridge with a look of intense concentration before shouting _ACCIO JUICE_. I choke with laughter, and James has to thump me on the back. _Well, African wizards don't need wands, they just point, so I thought I might as well try that too. You only said I had to survive a day without my wand, not without any magic at all!_ James protests, but I laugh harder still at the thought of telling Remus, Sirius and Peter about this.

Speaking of Remus, Sirius and Peter, I invite them to dinner, and tell James that since I cooked last night, it is his turn tonight, and that maybe he can research some hand gestures that might help him cook that roast dinner without his wand. _There will only be five of us, after all, and you were sure you could serve ten, weren't you?_ James swears at me, and I turn his hair into grass and won't turn it back until he apologises and agrees to refer to me as the 'Better Potter' for the rest of the day. He mutters that this is the worst day of his life, but I catch his lips twitching upwards.

At six thirty Remus and Sirius ring the doorbell. Pete said he couldn't make it, which is good news for James as he only has to cook for four now.

Half an hour later the oven has caught fire because James put the roast chicken in still wrapped in the paper bag the butcher gave it to us in, and the whole kitchen looks like a flood zone because James' solution to the fire was to throw seven salad bowls of water on it. Remus walked in and turned the oven off and threw a blanket over the whole thing, and Sirius and James stare at him open mouthed because he just stopped a fire _and he didn't even use magic even though Lily didn't say he couldn't_. Remus shrugs, _my mum's a muggle, and she's a terrible cook. She set the oven on fire a few times when I was a kid. I had to learn to put it out or let the house burn to a crisp._

I refuse to let Sirius and Remus go and get dinner or make something magical, because James' face is too funny when his ego has been severely deflated, but I cave in on the condition that James now has to call me the 'Better Potter' for the rest of the _week_ , and admit that he is a _muggle failure_. He does, but only because he is now _starving_ and if he has to choose between _dying of starvation and_ _humiliation then I choose humiliation, but I want you to know that you are a cruel wife to put me in this situation._

Sirius and Remus disappear for all of five minutes and return with a roast chicken, sweet potato fries, a caesar salad and two tubs of ice cream, and we are all glad that James chose humiliation. Just to make sure the humiliation doesn't evaporate with his hunger though, I tell the table about James' dabbling in African wizardry, and we all agree that when this war is over he should write to Uagadou to ask if they offer a mature age study option so that he can work on his hand gestures further. James makes a very rude hand gesture at all of us.

A few hours later, when Sirius and Remus leave, they are both smiling, and I think they are relieved that we have found ourselves again. It is only then I remember how Remus' brows had knitted together every time I snapped at James in front of them, and how Sirius' eyes had looked anywhere but at us when James had glowered back at me. But tonight Remus' face was smooth and Sirius had met our eyes. _We didn't fight all day, even though we were so bored this afternoon before Remus and Sirius came over. James and Lily – 1, Voldemort – 0._


	3. Chapter 3

Day 25

According to James, I am nesting. According to James, I am a textbook case of week 38 of pregnancy. James is very proud of himself for finally reading the pregnancy book Sirius I picked up during my freak-out the early stages of my pregnancy. I throw the pregnancy book at James, because it's taken him 29 weeks to do it, and this baby will be vacating my uterus very soon and he still hasn't read the book on the first few months of parenting, which is obviously more important now that I'm basically finished with being pregnant. James transfigures the book midair into 6 paper airplanes, and attaches them to some string to make a mobile to hang over the baby's crib.

To be honest, I am just grateful that this place is starting to feel like home, even if it is only pregnancy hormones. Perhaps I am getting used to my safe, comfortable cage. I suppose the timing isn't too bad though, because according to my book on newborns, new mothers rarely leave the house anyway.

We received a note from Petunia today, announcing the birth of her new son, Dudley. _Dudley?_ James shrieked when he read it. _That kid is just born to be a prat, he's being set up for failure! I almost feel sorry for him!_ I try to shake my head disapprovingly, but I can't help but smile, because he is right. That child will grow up spoilt rotten, and he is bound to be a miserable arse with those two for parents.

James takes the note as a cue to start thinking of names for our baby, which I've been putting off. I like to think that when I see my baby I will just _know,_ you know? James tells me I'll be hormonal as fuck, and will end up choosing something like _Sunshine_ or _Watermelon_ because I like both the sun and watermelons. I throw the baby name book at him. He turns it into eleven paper birds, and makes another mobile.

Day 26

In some kind of miracle, James cracked the spine of the newborn baby book. A few pages in, he looked up at me. _What's a nappy?_ I stare at him, not knowing whether to laugh or cry. _Are you kidding me? We our baby is due in under two weeks and you don't know what a nappy is?_ He looks nonplussed. _It's underwear for infants you dung-brain! It's disposable and padded so it can absorb their wee so that we don't have to constantly wash teeny tiny underpants! What do you think they wear?_ He stares at me, and falls about laughing.

 _Are you a witch or not? Obviously we'll use self-cleaning clothes and sheets until the kid learns to relieve himself with dignity_. _Nappies… what an embarrassment. That's probably what that baby prat Dudley wears, and I'll tell you one thing. Our kid is wearing nothing that Vernon Dursley's baby wears._

My cheeks are burning but I am laughing, not only because I hadn't realised that witches and wizards did not use nappies, but also because I had been such a know-it-all about James' not knowing, and it turned out to be me who was (once again) ignorant about the magical world. Moments of what I call my "muggle brain" are rarer and rarer the longer I spend living full time in the wizarding world, but occasionally these things surprise me. I suppose I had never really had cause to worry about what wizards did with their babies' poo.

James tosses the book aside. _This is clearly irrelevant. I think I'll just wing the whole thing._ I pick the book up and throw it at James again, shouting _you will not just 'wing' our baby's life!_ Now the baby has a butterfly mobile as well. _Keep this up and we'll have a room full of flying paper objects,_ James jokes. _Lucky for you we have no more baby related books of any kind_ , I retort.

Day 27

Sometimes I worry that we are too young for this, that we're making a huge mistake. Sometimes I remember that if I weren't pregnant, that stupid prophecy never would have been made, Voldemort would never have decided our baby would need to be killed, and we would never have had to go into hiding. But I push that thought away everytime it bubbles to the surface, because it doesn't matter now, and because I already know I wouldn't trade my baby for anything in the world. Not even to go back to being a 20 year old, naïve kid, fighting for the right side, the only side, instead of being a 20 year old, disillusioned woman, running for my family's life because we are on the right side.

James still keeps randomly throwing out baby names in the middle of other conversations. We're talking about what to do for Remus and Sirius' 5 year anniversary when he bursts out _Milton!_ And I have to punch him on the shoulder, because no way in hell am I having a baby called Milton.

He only suggests boys names, and when I finally suggest a girls name, _Amy?_ He looks at me like I'm mad. _We are not naming our son Amy, that is taking feminism too far._ I am torn about which half of his sentence to tackle first, and decide on the former. _But it might not be a son_. James hears the pleading in my voice, because he stands and wraps his arms around me, which is harder than it used to be because my huge belly is in the way. _Lily, I think we both know that he will be._ I lean my head against his shoulder, and say nothing. I know he knows what I am thinking. I am praying that this has all been a mistake, that our baby will be a girl, and the prophecy was not about us after all and we can go back to our lives, with a beautiful, whole, safe daughter unmarked by fate.

Day 30

I can not believe a month has passed since we walked through this door, since we left the rest of the world behind. Our home is now ready for the baby who we might come to meet us any day now. The crib has been assembled, James' mobiles hung from the ceiling, and the apartment has been magically babyproofed. James' broom is locked away. My potion ingredients and equipment have been moved to higher cupboards. Our wizard chess pieces have been hidden away, out of reach of a baby's searching hands. The cupboard doors and drawers have been imperturbed, so that you need a spell to open them.

James is grumbling. _The baby won't even be able to lift its head let alone try and open cupboards or ride my broomstick, so I don't see what the point of doing all this now is_. _And it's bloody annoying needing to use magic to get a goddamn spoon._ I point out that it won't be long before the baby is getting into everything, and that seeing as we have nothing but free time at the moment, and will soon have our hands quite full, we might as well get it all out of the way. _And you'll get used to it soon enough anyway._

Secretly, I am finding the whole situation rather funny, because James seems simply incapable of remembering to keep his wand handy. I regularly hear him swear upon realising he has left his wand upstairs, and has to trudge all the way upstairs for it if he wants a bar of chocolate from the fridge.

Sirius falls foul of our baby proofing efforts too. He tries to step on the pedal to open the rubbish bin, but his foot slides off without making an impact, and he loses his balance completely, toppling over.

James starts calling baby proofing _Sirius-proofing_. Sirius huffs that it seems to cause injuries rather than protecting him from it, and that a better word is _booby-trapping,_ which is a word he learnt from Remus last week who was explaining how muggle children keep each other out of their rooms.


	4. Chapter 4

Day 33

Time is playing tricks on me at the moment. It snails past while I'm trying to stay busy finishing preparations for this tiny human who will soon join us. And then, when I am realizing these are my last days of time alone with James, just him and me, and stop to try and pay attention to our little world, it rushes by me unceremoniously.

Our last days together are making me maudlin, and I have always prided myself on being quite unsentimental. James has always been the emotional one, remembering tiny details from our first dates, and even from our early school days when I thought I hated him. But today it seems we have switched places. He is focused, almost frantic in activity, constantly remembering things we haven't done yet.

I keep freezing in motion, gripped in my own memories.

 _There we are,_ I think, _eleven years old, and still trying to figure each other out. He took such an instant dislike to Severus, and I loyally stuck by my only friend from home, and decided I must hate this confident, loud, force of energy of a boy who stood in such stark contrast to my friend, shy and insecure and possessive of our friendship. James always knew his feelings so instinctively. I am jealous of that now. He trusts his gut, and his gut has rarely led him astray. I make snap judgments too, but often I rely on tiny indicators to determine whether I like someone or not. James looks at the big picture, and puts a person in one of two boxes: potentially worth his time, or categorically not worth his time._

 _For so many wasted years, I saw James run a hand through his hair, and felt a pulse of dislike. What an arrogant little toe-rag I thought he was. What a cocky, spoilt prat. Turns out, those faults, the tendency to arrogance born of his happy, privileged upbringing pale in comparison to his unfailing optimism, his gritty determination, his capacity for love. I was so blinded by his flaws that I missed out on years where we could have been friends._

And I make a silent prayer, _let my child inherit that from James, that willingness to see the good and look past people's flaws. And also that uncanny ability to see when someone simply isn't worth the energy._

Sirius, Remus and Peter come over for lunch today, even though yesterday was the full moon. Remus looks a mess. I never get used to seeing him like this, wan and drawn and carrying such a burden. He catches me looking at him, and I shoot him a quick smile, trying to pretend I haven't been staring. He nods, understanding my thoughts in my eyes.

I always knew that Remus was a special kind of person. I am glad I never wasted time seeing him in the same light as I saw James and Sirius. Remus is that person you meet and just know they are trustworthy and well-intentioned. When I was younger, I didn't see what he saw in James and Sirius, when he was so obviously _good_ and they were so obviously (I thought) _idiots_. Remus was the kid who could make anyone laugh when they really needed it, a quiet sense of humour that came out in the strangest situations. Now I know where that comes from, but it used to surprise me so much.

I misunderstood Sirius at least as badly as I did James. His sense of humour never shut down, and it was the loud and obvious kind. Disruptive and destructive, Sirius was a ball of dynamism that exhausted me. I could kick myself now for not seeing through it. It all seems so clear now, what a shield it all was. Today, sitting across the table from him, I can see what I missed then. His moments of stillness are rare, but when they happen, his eyes are full of meaning. Today he is staring at Remus with an intensity that could bore a hole in a wall. I wonder if they have been fighting. His eyes are both accusing and apologetic, gazing at Remus, who is deep in conversation with James about Dumbledore's next move in the war. His eyes make me want to reach across the table and hug him tightly.

Peter, on the other hand, is more a mystery to me now than he ever was. Once I saw a naïve, trusting boy, tagging along with others who were bigger than him in every sense. I always thought him lovable, a good guy, if a little vague sometimes. But he's been coming by less and less, and every time I see him I think I see a different man. He is quieter than the others, and it makes me wonder what he thinks of all this. I think he is fearful to visit us in hiding, and maybe he even regrets having such vivacious friends, friends who _would_ end up in Voldemort's sights. But then I think I am being too harsh. Everyone responds to war differently, there is no right or wrong way. Peter is surely just weary, as we all are.

After lunch I am washing up alone. Peter made his excuses quickly after lunch, and slipped away. Remus is resting on the couch, and James is showing Sirius how he has painted the baby's room to look like a miniature quidditch pitch, and changed all the mobiles he made to have tiny players, flying around the room.

I am washing up the muggle way, as I have learned it can be soothing to feel the dirt coming away from the plates beneath my own hands. As I put one of the plates to the side, I pause, leaning against the kitchen bench, my head bowed. Again, I've realised that time has passed me by, a whole three hours with my friends when I wasn't drinking it in as I should. A weight settles in the pit of my stomach that has nothing to do with the extra weight I am carrying, and I feel almost sick at the thought of everything changing.

 _Are we mad? Aren't we too young for this?_ I close my eyes, trying to find channel James' surety that _everything will be alright_. I can not shake the mantra going around my head _we are twenty and we don't know how to do this and IT'S NOT FAIR_.

I sink to the floor, my big belly resting against my knees. It wasn't so long ago we were in our final year of school, crazy in love, constantly fighting and making up passionately and fighting again.

All of a sudden I am 18 again, and in my head I hear James shouting at me, _how can you say that? Don't you know me at all? It's not all just a game to me!_ I shoved him against a wall at that, unable to contain my frustration. I screamed _it is literally a game, it is a sport, and it DOES NOT MATTER. WHO CARES IF YOU LOST, CAN YOU JUST GET OVER IT?_ I cringe, thinking of my voice rising higher and higher, as I lost control of my teenage emotions. I drag myself back to the present, where I am wallowing regretfully in my own unkindness. I wince, thinking what a bitch I was, to yell at James when he was disappointed and embarrassed at losing the final quidditch game of our final year, a game he'd trained so hard for. I tell myself I was only 18, that I had been jealous of the time he spent on the pitch and not with me, but I can not put my own screeching voice out of my head.

 _Lily?_ A voice comes through the kitchen door. _Lily! Are you alright? What's happened? Is it the baby?_ I look up at James with a rush of love mingled with remorse, and feel tears spring to my eyes. _I'm fine,_ I say, _I'm fine, I'm just a bit overwhelmed, I suppose._ James crosses the room and sits beside me, throwing his arm around my shoulder and drawing me towards him. _We're going to be fine. Just you see. Nobody knows how to parent until they do it, and most people seem to figure it out. We love each other, and we love our baby, and we don't need anything else for right now._

I let myself be held and comforted, but they are not the worries that are circling my head like a drain at the moment. My parenting fears are in there too, but as background noise to the general anxiety that is my internal monologue. _Come on, Lily,_ James says, _talk to me. It's just us, Sirius is in the living room with Remus. What's going on?_

 _Why did you even like me?_ I burst out in a shaking voice. At once, James falls silent, but his arm tightens around me. I hate how small I feel, how pathetic and young and dependent on him I am. I do not look up at him, but rest my head on his shoulder, looking instead at his knees.

 _What do you mean, why did I like you? I didn't like you Lily, I loved you. I've loved you since the moment we met and you called me a twit for teasing Severus._

 _But why?_ I insist. _I was so nasty to you, and even when we started dating I was a pain in the ass_. James laughs, and kisses the top of my head. _Look at me, Lily._ He lifts my face to look at his. _You are fierce, and strong. You are loyal and protective of the people you care about. You actually used to scare me a bit, you were so feisty, but I loved that about you all the same. You are clever as anything, and won't take nonsense from anybody. All I did was act like an idiot, and I knew it, so I couldn't blame you for not giving me the time of day. And much as I hated Severus, still do, I was always kind of impressed that you could see something good in someone who was so hard to like. You can see the good in anyone, and you are forgiving of mistakes, until you can't be anymore. Like with Severus, and with your sister._

I shake my head, but the weight in my belly is lifting. I wipe my eyes, and simply say, _I love you_.

He musses my hair, and says _I love you too, you idiot. I know this is all scary, but there's no one else I'd rather be facing it with._ We sit for a while on the kitchen floor, until one of my butt cheeks goes to sleep, and James has to call Sirius to come and take my other hand so the two of them can haul me back to my feet. Sirius, more tactful than I ever appreciated, does not comment on my red eyes, or ask why I was sitting on the floor of my kitchen when my belly is the size of a large cauldron, all he says is, _the sooner your baby comes the better. Because the sooner he is born, the sooner he will grow up, and the sooner he grows up, the sooner he can start pulling you off the floor and I'll be off the hook._

James punches him on my behalf.


End file.
